The Odds Are Never In The Winchester's Favour
by Kat Kreacher
Summary: Spn/hg crossover Since their mother died in a fire when they were young, Sam and Dean have only had each other. Their father, blaming himself for what happened to his wife, turned to drink for comfort, ignoring his young children except to teach them to defend themselves. When Sam is reaped in the Hunger Games, Dean volunteers to take his place, and vows to return home to his Sammy
1. Chapter 1

'Gettup son'

Dean moaned and rolled over as his father shook him roughly awake. He groaned but smiled slightly as he caught sight of his little brother standing by the sink.

'Big day right?', Sam said, raising his eyebrows.

'Exactly' snapped their father, 'so get up'.

Today was the day of the reaping, the selection of the two kids to be the next tributes in the 74th annual hunger games.

This was to be Dean's last reaping, as he was now 18, and so next year he would be too old to take part. One more year. One more year then it would be over.

Normally their father, John, would have left the house long before either of the boys had woken up. He tried to spend as little time with them as possible, as they were a constant reminder of his beautiful wife, who had been killed in a fire many years ago. Sam was too young to remember the fire, or what his father had done after seeing them spluttering on the street, but Dean would never forget the dead look in his father's eyes as he walked away from them that night, and from that day onwards, everything Dean did was to please his father, to try and make up for surviving instead of his mother, but nothing was good enough. Sometimes, it felt to Dean like, in his father's eyes, he had died alongside his mother that night. But today, John was forced to stay at home, today was the biggest event of the year, and everybody had to be there to watch.

Dean rolled out of bed and slumped down at the table as Sam served them their meagre breakfast of egg and slightly stale bread.

'Thanks kid', he smiled as Sam scraped the egg out of the pan.

John focused on the food and said nothing. Nobody mentioned the imminent reaping. They sat in silence, unable to think of anything else. At last John spoke,

'you're not scared are ya? I didn't raise my boys to be wusses'

'No, sir' they replied in unison.

'Good' John replied, 'Keep it that way'

The truth was, they were far better off than most of the other kids in the district. Although they weren't that well fed, they weren't starving like some of the others. They could all hunt, and so could fend for themselves. From before they could walk their father had taught them how to fight, and handle weapons. 'You don't know what's out there', he'd always told them.

The boys glanced at each other. Sam's jaw tightened and Dean glared at him. He knew what Sam was thinking. Sam didn't remember the fire, or their mother. He didn't remember the look on their dad's face. The disappointment, the blame. Dean knew it was his fault that his mother died. He didn't act fast enough. He froze. He disobeyed his father. Well, never again. He had sworn to himself that he would always do exactly what his father wanted him to. Sam didn't get it. He didn't understand why Dean always bent under his father's will. Why his brother, who was normally so fearless and strong, was so terrified of defying their father. He wanted out, he wanted to leave, be free from this strange setup that he didn't understand. But there was nowhere to go. And besides, however much he resented Dean for being their dad's pawn, he couldn't leave him. He was all he had. The idea of being separated from him filled him with dread.

Sam was a very independent 14 year old. He was much brighter than his brother, although this was not something to be proud of in his family. The Winchesters were brave and strong, not weedy little nerds, so Sam made sure to learn to fight and hunt, and keep his books to himself. He had never got on with his father. For as long as he could remember there had always been a distance between them. He had practically been brought up by Dean, his dad was always working or getting drunk with his friend Bobby, District 12's only victor. John couldn't bear to face his children. The happy memories of early family life were tainted by the screams of his wife as she was burned alive in front of him. She had begged him to save the boys, and so that's what he did, but there was not a day that went by where he did not resent his sons for what they had cost him.

The time they had been dreading soon came, and they made their way to the town square for the ceremony. They were split up, with Sam, being younger, nearer the front. Everyone was staring up at the platform in front of the Justice Building, where the reaping was to take place. It seemed an eternity before anything happened, the noise of children sobbing and searching desperately for their mothers, muffled by the sense of fear and anticipation. Everyone knew that District 12 kids had no chance, and by next month two of the children standing among them would be dead. Two more families torn apart, two more empty desks in the schoolroom, all for the sake of some light entertainment for the Capitol.

Finally, the familiar seal of the Capitol was projected onto the screen in front of them and the mayor stepped onto the platform and began to tell the history of Panem. It was the same story ever year and Dean had heard it so many times that he could recite it, so let it fade into the background noise as he surveyed the kids around him, and wondered which unlucky souls would be selected to die for the Capitol this year.


	2. Chapter 2

The District 12 escort, an obnoxious man called Gabriel, with ridiculous, slightly green hair and slightly glowing skin, stepped confidently onto the platform. He wore an olive green jacket which matched his hair, and high platform shoes, which, although probably appropriate for the slick Capitol streets, were entirely unsuitable for the dusty and uneven cobbles which had greeted him at the train station. Most flamboyant of all were the peacock blue trousers, which flared out drastically at the bottom, creating a double train effect. The crowd tensed with repulsion at this man, who had an active role in the running of the Hunger Games, who sat by and watched children murder each other year after year after year. Gabriel, oblivious to the seething audience, began his familiar spiel about honour and pride that sickened the entire crowd. He finished with the obligatory and unnecessarily chirpy 'Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favour!'

The entire audience stared blankly up at him, seething with silent hatred and fear.

Gabriel's smile faltered for an instant. He checked himself and reassumed his bouncy air.

'Right' he began, 'Ladies first, as always.'

Dean allowed himself a glance to his right, towards the pen where the girls had been herded. The youngest looked so fragile, they stood huddled together, swaying slightly with fear, like blades of grass blowing in the wind. It had been a 12 year old last year. Those years were always the worst. Having to watch kids that had barely lived, be forced to learn how to kill, only to see them lifted lifelessly out the the arena in a matter of days.

On the platform, Gabriel was swirling the slips of paper round the bowl like confetti. At last he grasped one. He raised it slowly out of the bowl, looked at it for a moment and then called out:

'Joanna Harvelle'

The crowd was silent. Peacekeepers forced their way through the crowds towards a shell-shocked 15 year old. Suddenly someone let out an ear-piecing shriek.

'No! Please not my baby! You can't do this! Jo! Jo!'

The woman was on her knees, sobbing and wailing. She clung to the peacekeepers legs, begging, pleading them to do something. She ran her shaking hands through her hair, clawing at her hair. Her entire body trembled with despair and she looked round at the nauseated crowd, all hope and life drained from her bloodshot eyes. Dean watched in horror. He knew her. He knew both of them. His father used to work with the woman's husband. He vaguely remembered something about a mining accident. Ellen, the woman was called Ellen. He saw the girl, Jo, at school sometimes. She was very pretty, and very not interested in him. She now stood calmly in front of the Justice building next to Gabriel, who was smiling encouragingly at her. Her hands were held tightly behind her back to hide the shaking. Her mother's bawling had subsided into frequent, irregular sobs. Dean looked at the ground and willed it to be over. He didn't want to watch this girl die. He couldn't.

His train of thought was interrupted by the panicky muttering around him. On the platform, Gabriel had moved towards the other bowl.

'And now', he paused, 'the boys'.

'Please' Dean thought, 'Please not me. There are thousands of names in there. It can't be me.

Gabriel seemed to struggle to get a grip on a bit of paper. Finally he found a slip he wanted, he picked it carefully out of the bowl, lifted it slowly towards himself, held it at eye level, and read it out.

'Samuel…' he paused.

Dean sighed with relief. They were safe for another year. He would never have to face that area, the 23 other unlucky and equally terrified kids. It was over.

'...Winchester'

Dean's knees gave in beneath him. His entire body went cold. He felt someone around him hoist him back up. Not Sammy! Not his Sammy who he had pulled coughing and spluttering from the fire all those years ago. Not the Sammy who he had raised alone, who he had taught to standup for himself, who he had watched face their father in a way Dean could never do. Sam was all he had.

'Sammy!' he roared, 'Sammy!'

He found Sam's head in the crowd in front of him, looking around desperately. Peacekeepers grabbed Sam and began to frogmarch him forwards. Dean lurched forward, barging his way through the crowd.

'Let him go!' he yelled despairingly 'Sammy!'

Sam looked round at him in anguish.

'No, Sammy! No!'

The peacekeepers were ramming him backwards, forcing a larger and larger gap between them. Without thinking, he shoved them aside and announced:

'I volunteer!'

The crowd went silent. Sam caught his eye and shook his head. His puppy eyes full of pain.

'You heard me, I volunteer as tribute in your ridiculous games'

'Dean' Sam started quietly, 'No. Don't do this'

'I. Volunteer.' he repeated slowly.

Gabriel was beside himself with excitement. He welcomed Dean excitedly onto the stage, where he stood, teeth clenched, fists balled, eyes fixed on the forbidden woods in the distance, as far away from Gabriel as possible.

'A volunteer!' Gabriel exclaimed, 'District 12 hasn't had a volunteer for..' he looked round desperately for information, 'well, I don't think District 12 has ever had a volunteer!' He paused, obviously hoping for some sort of recognition on Dean's behalf. The crowd was silent. Gabriel carried on, unshaken. 'So, what's your name?'

'Dean.'

Gabriel waited.

'Winchester. Dean Winchester'

Gabriel gave the crowd a knowing look. 'I think that was your brother'

'Well obviously. We do have the same name.'

'Um I..'

Dean cut him off- 'and why in hell would I volunteer for some stranger? Do I look like I have a death wish? Do I look like the sort of person that would enjoy murdering people?' His voice got louder and louder as he tried to disguise his rising panic.

'I.. Um, err, I suppose you're right.' For the first time, Gabriel seemed unsettled. 'Well' he continued brightly to the audience, 'You have your champions! Give them a hand!'

Dean was grateful that the crowd remained silent and still. He continued to stare straight ahead, unblinking. He didn't dare look at Sammy, or at his father.


End file.
